


Social Climbing.

by epicgaymer



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Aftercare, Canon Related, Gay Sex, I come back yearly to remind everyone that 47 is a generous fucking top, M/M, Rough Sex, arthur edwards is as good as a pillow prince, edwards hates rich people and no one can blame him, the man is overworked he's allowed to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicgaymer/pseuds/epicgaymer
Summary: Despite the evident presumption that he would despise The Constant, for all the misery he had inflicted upon people around him, 47 finds himself having a hard time actually maintaining that notion. The man works for rich snobs, after all.(Based on the mission "Social Climbing" from the Isle of Sgail.)
Relationships: Agent 47/Arthur Edwards
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	Social Climbing.

**Author's Note:**

> We all know that Mister Forty-Seven is the most generous top, I will not shut up about it and wrote the majority of this fic in one day to make that point.

For a palpable, drawn out moment; 47 was convinced that Sofia had cracked the wiry man that she had been sneering at - that the careful measured mannerisms he persisted to exhibit were finally going to crumble away. The furious tremors wracking his limbs were even more apparent now, and both of his pallid fists furled into shaking knots. Briefly the hitman thought he wouldn't need to pursue Sofia; that the Constant was going to push her. When he swayed forth a little and let his lips curl back 47 prepared himself for a struggle (for neither seemed to have a particular advantage), however, he simply let out a rasping sigh and took a step away from the woman. She scoffed, a brow perked at him.

"Don't fool yourself, Sofia." Each word came out with a hiss and from between tightly clenched teeth. "They may use you to punish me, but you're a tool, nothing more." Smoothing the lapels of her suit, the woman proceeded to look devoutly uninterested - not that it dissuaded the older man. "And this… pathetic ruse only shows me how much you have yet to learn." Sofia turned away from the onslaught, and scoured the horizon without much dramatic show. 

"I think we're done here, 'boss'. I've said my piece." Her tone was clipped with well-practiced authority, and again, 47 thought she was going to be sent tumbling over the cliff side. Instead the Constant heaved another rattling breath and slunk from the balcony, disappearing down a flight of stairs with a consistent clicking from his oxfords and presumably dipping into the door that 47 knew lead back into the base of the tower. Sofia watched him go from the corner of her eye and the moment he vanished from her proximity she snapped. A muted bombardment of swearing escaped her lips and she briskly tugged out her phone, pacing in a violent storm back and forth. 

"Fuck- pick up. Pick up!" She held the thing to her ear, 47 slithered through the window frame and lurked behind her as she muttered and shifted restlessly. Soon she made a fatal mistake, namely striding a slight too close to the edge. 47 lunged and propelled a sharp jab of weight into the middle of her back, she attempted to turn to face her aggressor and merely secured her fate as she was essentially barrelled off of the building. 47 straightened immediately to prevent stumbling and possibly slipping after her. He sniffed loudly, not happy, but with a dense contentment lingering in the pit of his stomach. It felt as though she had deserved this, and the tirade of elitism which she'd directed at her superior only moments ago felt distinctly nullified now. The hitman was hardly one to take sides, but felt confident in his dubious morality when it came to this scenario. 

He slid back in through the bathroom window and stood briefly beside the sink, which he flicked on and off, as to mimic someone washing their hands. The guard that had seen him enter would presumably hear some semblance of normality and wouldn't be suspicious of the previous minutes of silence. After adjusting his cloak briefly, 47 stepped out and calmly picked his way out of the corridor, and back down the stairs to the ground floor - ignoring the vacant eyes of one of the guards as he drew back towards the fireplace. Where the Constant was now perched in his seat, pouring himself a glass full to the brim of expensive red wine. His narrowed eyes flicked up and met 47's, although he didn't hold them for long, he looked exhausted. Each movement he made was sluggish, as though he were defeated. As he set the bottle back upon the table, the man spoke in his usual rasping manner. 

"My apologies again, mister Sinclair," he inhaled a shuddering mouthful of air and carefully 47 came to a halt alongside him - trying not to tower over and intimidate. "Would you care for some wine? Or anything else? I'm sure Constantin is capable of finding something or other that you may enjoy." The butler straightened slightly from his inspection of the surface he stood before and glanced at 47 expectantly. The hitman tipped his head in consideration. 

"Would you have any whiskey?" He rumbled, resting a hand on the back of the Constant's seat without much thought. 

"I know there are some high quality Dalmore bottles at the bar inside." The butler offered, raising both brows. 

"Please, any will do." The older man nodded, and cast a nervous look at his boss, 47 glanced down and mimed a wince which he hoped would set the butler at ease - if they were both 'feeling' the same then surely he'd be less concerned about leaving the Constant with this stranger. Not that the hitman blamed him, the man was rapidly heaving in mouthfuls of wine like he depended on it to breathe. He stopped momentarily to wave Constantin out and the butler trudged off reluctantly.

After a second, 47 stepped more confidently into the man's peripheral and pried the half-emptied glass from his fingertips. A look of indignation crossed the other's features, before it dissolved into one of sourness and he sunk further into the velvet of his chair, 47 set the glass down and glanced to him. 

"I assume," his voice rolled from his chest in low, almost assuring manner, "that miss Washington was not pleased over being caught." The Constant snorted in response.

"People of her… status are rarely ever denied their wishes, even those which are of detriment to others. I presume she merely thought she would get away with it, as she does everything else." Briefly, he cast another longing look at his wine and the hitman scrounged for something to say.

"I suppose." He rested a palm next to the other's drink. "Are you not of her 'status', then?" 

"Me? Not originally.. no." He rolled his head back and stretched a slight. "I had to work exceptionally hard to achieve what I did, unlike Sofia, she was simply born to a family of.. well-"

"-snobs?" 47 finished, watching as the drained man's features contorted in amusement and he blew out a "pfft" at the remark. 

"Indeed, mister Sinclair, indeed."

"Please, Marek is fine."

"Marek, then." The man pursed his lips momentarily, raking through his brain for some tidbit of information. "Eastern European?"

"Yes,.. mister?" He hoped that perhaps the man would be lulled into spilling his own name, clearly, the Constant was used to the technique and the man instead exhaled steadily.

"They usually call me 'the Constant'."

"They?"

"People." He turned both eyes to 47 more assuredly this time, and the hitman could see the purplish bags which hung beneath each. "It is a title, I suppose. I am in a unique position." He rested his chin upon his palm and the hitman considered him; the man would have been far more handsome if he had not aged so poorly. Haggard, was what 47 could first conjure up to describe him. Overworked was the next. "Currently, I am merely here to observe this event, ensure it runs smoothly. Which, evidently, it is not."

"I hardly think you can be blamed for what occurred." He put on his best attempt at a bewildered, sympathetic man, screwing up his forehead at the proposed notion. It appeared to work.

"Yes. But my higher-ups will think otherwise."

"Then, I imagine, they're snobs too." The man cocked his head, smothering the amusement tugging at his lips.

"Perhaps."

47 settled on the arm of the chair, for it was comfortable enough, and crossed one leg atop the other. 

"I like your lapel pin. What is it? A dove?" He leant a slight closer, and pressed the pad of his finger against the cool metal of the little bird nestled on the other's suit. The man's eyes befell it momentarily, tracking the movement as though suspicious. 

"A crane, actually."

"Oh, why?"

"It is recognised as a symbol for.. longevity and hope. I believe it was fabled to have a lifespan of thousands of years."

"Impressive." He cocked a brow, Diana had said that the bird seemed to be the one that Providence heralded as most important. A dove had never made much sense - the organisation was hardly peaceful. This, the crane, seemed to fit with far more convincing symbolism.

"Very." 

"Is that what you're striving for? Longevity?"

"Maybe," the Constant fiddled with the pin himself, and 47 withdrew his finger a little. "Although, I will admit. It is seeming less achievable as of late."

"Oh? Well, why not?"

"I believe that my time within my position is drawing to a close - my mentor retired about my age and I am expected to conjure up a protege. That and," he jabbed at the small red trail running beside his jugular - the poison chip obviously embedded beneath, "You would know." 

Without much thought, the hitman rolled his thumb up to the mark on the other's neck, and then stroked it lightly, the Constant's eyes fluttered shut and he let out a rasping exhale. He looked exhausted, although the expression quickly altered and he squinted one eye open at 47. "Why are you so.. intent on questioning me?"

"You're humble, not many people are here, I was curious as to how you managed to remain that way." The hitman dropped his hand back to his knee.

"Perspective." The man drawled, then stood up. He crossed the room to a small platter of food, sat on a side table, and lazily picked something up between his fingers, fiddling lightly. He didn't appear all that interested in it really. "Perspective.. and all the hard work that comes with starting on the outside." 47 stood and meandered alongside him, the Constant stuck the food he'd been contemplating over into his mouth. He swallowed raggedly. The hitman could see the exhaustion prevalent in the slight sluggishness the other exhibited, up close his eye bags looked striking and his thinning hair slightly ill-kept.

"It certainly appears that you are.. well worked." He chose his words carefully, as not to offend the man beside him. The other grunted in response; politeness apparently ebbing from him the longer the night drew on. 47 pursed his lips in thought, playing up the role he'd adopted even further. "Do you even enjoy these events? Because if so, I'm afraid you're not very convincing."

"I would, very frankly, rather be asleep." The Constant forced down another mouthful of whatever expensive food he was indulging in. "I have not done so, in some time." The hitman clapped a hand lightly to the other's shoulder, casually ignoring the wince he received, not wanting to seem too overbearing. But he made no attempt to shrug off 47's palm. 

"Why don't you?" He recalled the bed upstairs. "Is there nowhere in this whole castle to rest? I'm sure we could find a bed.. somewhere." Casually, he reached past the wiry man and plucked one of the snacks from the tray, the other watched as though intrigued by the mannerisms being exhibited. It took a moment for the hitman to register the bewildered expression behind those taunt lips and blank stare. Oh -- did the Constant believe he was making a pass at him? Quickly he opened his mouth to clarify his intentions, or lack thereof, but didn't get the chance.

"-Arthur."

"I'm.. pardon?" 

"Earlier, mister Sincl-Marek, you asked for my name. My name is Arthur." Oh. For a moment or so, the hitman struggled to come up with something to say. Uncertain as to why the man was surrendering such personal information now of all times.. unless it was a direct response to what may have sounded like a proposition. Still uncertain as to the nature of their situation currently, 47 played it safe.

"Arthur.." He pursed his lips, trying his best to put on an act of considerate respect. "That's a nice name. Why all the secrecy?" The lean man beside him shifted, a look of nervousness cast in the direction of the door. The guards lurking beside it paid no mind to the both of them, seemingly at least. 

"Ah, if someone more.. malicious came into possession of my name it would make it much easier for my employers to be identified." Arthur waved a hand. 47 opened his mouth again, but was interrupted as Constantin swept back into the vicinity, the promised bottle of whisky clutched tightly against his chest. The hitman removed his palm from the other's shoulder and wandered over to accept the drink. 

"Thank you." He rumbled, bowing his head slightly in appreciation to the butler, who nodded back - clearly content with the inkling of respect he was being shown. 47 had seen how some of these people addressed their employees and didn't wish to recreate such an attitude. He took the bottle back over to the side table, watching as Arthur produced a small glass. 

"Here, that's the strongest whisky we have, I would imagine you don't want much.. if you're trying to get home in one piece." 

"Thank you." 47 flashed his best attempt at a small, sardonic smile; Arthur reciprocated, eyes flicking down as though uncertain. His ears were tinged with red. Curious. "Would you like some?" He offered after pouring some into his own glass, he could see the man considering for a moment before he nodded. 

"Please." Came the soft drawl, as he produced another glass and set it down beside 47's own, the hitman filled it half way. Arthur took it and held it in a small toasting gesture, which 47 mimed immediately. "To perspective." The gangly man hissed, tipping back his head and quickly downing most of his drink in one, brows pinched together. 47 sipped at his own drink slower, reaching again to steady the man and resting a palm against his shoulder. Arthur straightened a little as he finished his drink with a perfunct gasp. 

"Are you.. okay?" 47 offered, in his best attempted feigning of concern. Arthur huffed in what sounded like amusement.

"Earlier," he squinted, "you mentioned a bed - I have one. My bedroom is upstairs."

"Oh." The hitman flicked his gaze about. Fuck it. He turned off his ear piece subtly, leaning his head upon his palm. "Would you prefer company?" Arthur's eyes lit up. Bingo. For a second the other man pretended to consider his response.

"Please." 47 smiled again, the expression still odd on his features, finished his drink and straightened to his full height. Arthur seemed to note the difference it made, then and produced a bubbling little chuckle. He waited a moment, then began up the staircase, taking the steps in two's with his spindly legs; the suit he wore was fit tightly to his frame and 47 could picture the man's body type from it alone - he was lean and thin, his legs a little too long for his stature and his shoulders slightly sloped from lack of use, of course it appeared that he wouldn't need to imagine it for longer anyway. He followed the man up the stairs, lighter on his feet despite their difference in weight. 

The bedroom was the furthest door on the landing, and Arthur presented it without much flourish, standing at the frame with an uncertain smile. The guards steered clear from them at least, as 47 walked the man back into his own room and tapped the door shut behind them. The hitman made the first genuine contact, as the other seemed perpetually nervous about the situation he'd put himself in. Calmly, 47 slid both large palms about the smaller man's waist - body narrow enough that his fingers met in the middle - then, he tugged him in. Arthur was shivering. Strange. 

Without wasting time on dramatics, the hitman craned his head and kissed the man firmly on his lips, the action was immediately reciprocated tenfold. Arthur stood on his toes, fingers clutching that the architect's cloak 47 had stolen, fisting it restlessly as he drew his tongue over his mouth with fervent demand. Hopelessly needy. 47 cracked his lips open and met the tongue with his own, languidly lapping at the other's mouth, drawing out a few frustrated noises as he engaged with half the intensity Arthur displayed. His hands rolled in circles at the man's hips, before he slipped them down to his ass and used the leverage to scoop him up. A small squeal was what he received for his efforts, plus a hurried grind against his abdomen.

"Christ!" The other sputtered, drawing back a little, he clearly was not expecting the exhibition of strength 47 had just shown. Cheeks starkly smeared red.

"I wouldn't go that far." The hitman rumbled, walking casually as he could manage with a fully grown man in his arms, towards the bed. His sarcasm earned him another ragged chuckle and a deep kiss. This time he applied considerably more effort, rasping his tongue into the other's mouth, kissing him breathless and red. Then shifting him roughly into the crook of an arm to cup his face with a free hand; a little warbling mewl was heaved into his lips. He fondled the man's thigh harder in response. 

As strong as 47 was, he couldn't support the weight of Arthur in just one arm for long, and so sufficed by plastering his back to one of the bed's towering wooden posts. It seemed to do the trick.

Pulling back after feeling the man's breathing become more desperate through his nose, the hitman turned his attention to the pallid expanse of the other's neck, which he immediately dotted with light kisses only slowing when he had made his way to the scar just beneath the Constant's jugular. He bit down without a warning and suckled slowly, the other man jolting against him and chuffing nervously. All it took was a low crooning hush from 47 for Arthur to roll his head back in acceptance and relax, he'd managed to draw a little blood, which he quickly soothed by lapping the area softly - almost apologetic. Again, he received the same muted moaning. 

He continued about the man's neck in the same manner, biting light marks against the vulnerable flesh, then suckling the starts of possessive bruises into fruition. The hitman nipped at his Adam's apple for good measure, feeling the vibrations from each sound against his bared teeth. Because, from what he could discern at the moment, the other man was noisy - noisy, touch-starved and demanding. Regularly rocking his hips and hissing out crude desires, whenever 47 wasn't administering what he deemed to be enough attention upon him. It was amusing, to a degree: man so restrained and polite being nothing short of utterly unremitting in bed.

Seemingly growing bored of the attention being lavished primarily at his throat, the wiry man bit back, catching 47's earlobe in his teeth with a lowly growl. The hitman pulled away to stare, dropping a hand to steady his hold on the man (he didn't want to hurt him particularly), then plastering him down against the sheets of his bed in one fluid movement. Once overtop him, he boxed the man beneath him with his legs and tugged off his tie. 

"For a servant," he snarled, still playful beneath the words he was actually speaking, "you really don't know when to behave." Arthur opened his mouth, then clammed it shut, flushed up to his brow line, half glancing down as the hitman popped each button of the blue shirt he donned and pulled it open, writhing against the bed sheets. Tie still in hand, 47 shuffled closer to the other's crimson face. "Tip your head forward." He rumbled, stretching the tie to its full length, it took a moment for Arthur to catch onto his plan, but he immediately submitted - allowing 47 to wrap it about his eyes - leaving him completely blind to the situation. "Handsome thing, aren't you?" One palm smoothed over the other's fuzzy chest, nails rolling over the skin lazily. A few restrained huffs was all he received.

Without adding anything else, the hitman half pulled the man forwards to shuck off both his coat and blazer, sending them across the room with a swift toss - leaving the slighter man's chest completely exposed as he pushed him down again. His skin was dappled with moles, which, 47 noted with some amusement, seemed to culminate by each nipple. He slid his hands up over the ribcage, then rolled each dark bud with a calloused thumb, watching intently as Arthur's hands scrambled for purchase on his sheets. Sensitive areas, it seemed. Of course, 47 could work with that, lowering his head to pepper kisses up to his left nipple, which he mouthed gently - teeth grazing the bud on occasion and pulling a little. His right hand remained smoothing over the other nipple, not leaving it unattended. 

Through the man's ribcage, he could hear the thrumming of his heart and each rattling breath he took to steady himself. He noted that every time he would smother attention upon the Constant, the other would clutch at his bed with one hand, cupping his mouth with the other. His features furrowed. A technique to mute his own responses. 47 raised a brow, drawing up from he had been licking. "A little quiet aren't we?" Beneath his disguise, the hitman still wore his own tie, and smugly he removed it. "I would much rather hear you." 

Without hesitation, he reached over and took the man's hand from where he'd been cupping his mouth and the other from his bed, clasping the wrists together in one of his own large palms. He worked Arthur towards the pillows some, letting him rest his head there, then pinned both hands over him and wrapped the tie about them and through the intricately designed wooden headboard, completely preventing any more arm movements. Arthur wriggled a little, then seemed to realise how firmly secured he actually was. The sound he emitted was a trembling groan, his body wracked by a momentary shiver as his head lolled back in defeat. "There," he tweaked the man's right nipple and earned another lewd noise, "you sound delightful."

Now with the man unable to see or feel what he was doing, 47 removed the cloak he wore, relieved as soon as the thick wool layer was gone. This was followed closely by his jacket, shoes, slacks and socks; it felt odd to be clad in just a shirt and boxers, but far more comfortable - the strain upon his trousers now gone as his cock merely pressed to the fabric of his underwear. It took him a few seconds to discard Arthur's shoes and slacks; he left him in his socks - there was something strangely endearing about the sock garters he wore beneath. He could see the other man's arousal too, the dark pair of trunks he wore notably tented and a small damp spot at the tip indicated how far gone he already was. The hitman practically purred at the sight, parting the speckled legs beneath him, slowly. 

"You look lovely, stay there for me. I'll make you feel good." His tone was softer as he pressed a rough kiss to Arthur's cheek, then gradually eased off his underwear, halting any time the man would rock his hips up in some needy manner, tutting in mock disapproval. Until finally the weeping cock sprung free, reddened and flush with want. Christ, he noted, the man's dick was absolutely speckled from tip to taint in freckles and moles - it was oddly endearing. 47 briskly shed his own boxers, moving up close to the other's hips to grip both lengths against each other in one hand. 

"Oh- you're ah- big." Arthur rasped, evidently trying to sound collected and failing miserably as the man stroked them in unison. 47 chuckled, thumbing the slit of the smaller cock and taking in the heaving moan that it produced.

"Very." His own voice was a croon, comforting. "You're going to take it all, though." He leant down, chest grazing the other's as he kissed him slowly, Arthur found his lips with shaking fervour. "Aren't you?" The hand stroking the both of them stilled for a second, inducing a response. 

"Yes-" His hips arched up from the bedsheet, into 47's fondling, "God- I- yes." 

"Perfect." Pulling back, the hitman surveyed for a second. "You're a little tight at the moment, though. I don't want to hurt you like that… poor thing, you wouldn't be able to sit." Watching the squirming frame beneath him, 47 let out a breathy sound of his own, someone who hadn't been penetrated in a long while was bound to be hot and tight about him - the hitman shuddered in delight. "Do you have lubricant?" Arthur whinged as the broad man slid off the bed, leaving him completely bare and exposed to the elements. Deliciously vulnerable too, all tied up like that, with just his tragic looking socks and garters to cover him marginally.

"In," the man's spine was still arched enough for his ass to be clear of the sheets, "-in my bedside cab-cabinet." 47 didn't need telling in more detail, efficiently opening and rifling through the drawers until he found the little bottle. 

He popped the cap, and slathered three of his fingers in a healthy coating of lube, then tossed the bottle onto the sheets as he settled between the spread legs before him. 

"Keep your hips up, pretty." 47 didn't give much warming, helping secure the position by sitting back on his heels, legs tucked under him, knees beneath the other's thighs, exposing the vulnerable place before him. He parted the other's cheeks gently and without much show, suppressing a warm chuckle - again with the freckles, the tight hole was rife with them. 

He could hear the low whining from the other's mouth as he began to circle the spot with a wet forefinger, occasionally rolling the tip of it into the heat before pulling out quickly. It was only a few moments before Arthur began to beg.

"Please," the voice he used was low and pitiful, wriggling hopefully closer to where 47 was teasing him, "god- I want you. Please--inside me." The words were slurred with pleasure and the hitman decided they would suffice as he slid a digit in slowly. It was tight, as expected, tight and hot - and he briefly allowed himself to consider how it would be to feel the man wrapped about his cock as he fucked him. He shuddered and pushed the digit in deeper, pleased that his long finger allowed him to prod about until he found the spot that made Arthur squeak. 

It didn't take nearly as long to work the second finger into the same position, and he set to work using both to milk every gasp and beg from the other, as he massaged his prostate relentlessly, his partner strained against his makeshift bindings. 47 scissored his digits and Arthur threw his head back, sputtering: "more-more please-" and the third finger was added not long after. 

47 was content to take his time prepping this lithe little man, to work him open until it would be comfortable for his length to be taken inside him - he knew his own girth well enough and as much as the onslaught of begging was endearing, the other man would not be nearly as pleased if 47 were to push in now. 

"You're only small, pretty." He chided. "I'll hurt you if I'm not careful." Arthur curled his top lip and growled a sweet noise out, he managed the self control for a few minutes before he dissolved again into his shaking moans and mewls as 47 fingerfucked him with reinforced vigour. "That's it, your hole's still going to be nice and tight, don't you worry - it'll still feel good." He grasped a hip firmly and drove his fingers with more force in and out, until the other was sobbing with pleasure, shaking and gasping beneath him. Just as he looked ready to cum, 47 removed all his fingers in one swift movement, he watched Arthur register the emptiness, hole closing on nothing as the hitman quickly covered his cock in lube. A choked mewl escaped him. 

"Oh," he soothed, sliding the thick head of his dick back and forth over the wet heat, "aren't you just wonderful down there. You want my cock, don't you?"

"-Yes. F-uhck. Me."

"Fuck you?" A rapid bobbing of the other's head. 47 chuckled again. "I'm going to stretch you completely and fill you up with cum. You like that?" More nodding. "Pardon?"

"-Jesus- you, pl-eeease. I'm-" the man took a few breaths, seemingly steadying himself, 47 rubbed his hip slowly, encouraging him to take a moment with a few soft hushes, he didn't want the man exerting himself so much early on - he'd only cum prematurely. "Yess." Although still shaky, Arthur sounded much more controlled now. 

"Good." The hitman took hold of one hip, using his other hand to guide his cock into the hole, which he breached very slowly. It felt akin to a loop of tight rubber bands, clenching down on him and plastering his thick length to every hot wall inside of the other. "Relax some, you're all tense." He murmured, sighing softly as the other man did as he was told to, the entrance felt less clamped as he pushed into him. The slide was long and slow, giving the wiry Constant plenty of time to adjust to the shape and sensation. To give him credit, the man was patient as 47 eased into him, although his features betrayed the sheer amount of effort he was putting into controlling himself. His face was scrunched up, and despite his eyes being covered by his tie, they were likely screwed shut too - given the furrow to his brow. It didn't take long after that, to bury himself completely inside of Arthur, his whole length sheathed deeply in the heat he provided.

The Constant was puffing out mouthfuls of choking air, a vibrant red all over now, and as 47 wriggled to get comfortable he heaved out a sob of delight - the hitman's thick cockhead no doubt pressing firmly against his prostate.

"Fuck me-" he rasped between breaths, shaking as 47 took steady hold of both hips and began to move confidently - drawing out until just the tip of his cock remained against his rim, and then slamming in with enough vigour to knock the wind from his poor partner. He did so again, and again, increasing the pace each time as the man's body clung to his cock and drew him back in, shouting each time it smacked his prostate. In lieu of finding a better angle to fuck Arthur, the hitman grasped his sock-clad ankles and pulled them quickly over his shoulders, bending to accommodate for the position - the garters grazed his skin slightly but 47 couldn't have care less. 

The man beneath him was bent at such an angle to where each rough thrust into and out of him was quicker than before, with no gangly legs to adjust to or hold steady. He was crying, utterly delighted and evidently overwhelmed by the feeling, 47 drove into him without halt or even slowing and it seemed to be wrecking the little control the other had left. He wrung at his own wrists, bit down on his lips; a sorry attempt to distract from the amount of pressure being fucked into his prostate, the hitman could see Arthur trying to maintain his composure. 

"Sweet thing," he spoke between pants, "let it out, you don't have to hold yourself together now." He pressed a long kiss to the other's now gaping mouth. "Let yourself enjoy this. You love being stuffed full of my cock -- don't you, handsome?" His words seemed to crack the smaller man, who choked a couple of times, as 47 nudged his prostate with profound force, drawing out finally and shunting back in with enough force to draw a squeal from the expensive bed frame, and a raw scream from its inhabitant. It didn't sound as though he were in pain though - in fact it was fairly clear that pleasure had brought the shout on - or else some guards would have come running. 47 doubted any of them wanted to witness one of their most powerful employers be fucked into a shaking, sobbing mess by some well-muscled stranger. 

He continued his assault on the man beneath him, making sure that he was utterly quelled by the fervent, rough attention he was receiving - he looked as though he was, mouth ajar to call out each time 47 hit the right spots inside him, cheeks stained with tears and the majority of his body now a deep red. 47 grasped his freckled cock gently in hand and stroked him slowly; it didn't take much to bring him to orgasm, only a few jerks and the man had coated the hitman's hand and his own abdomen in cum. After wiping his sticky digits upon the sheets, 47 set about cumming too, fucking firmly back into the poor man, plastered under him - hole tight and fluttering from over stimulation - unable to form any words to express it as the other still drove into him and his prostate. He simply lay back, shaking and huffing as 47 finished within him, pumping him full of cum with a growl.

It was a few moments until the hitman pulled out, watching the hot liquid stream out of Arthur back onto the bed sheets, no doubt marring them obscenely. He slowly removed the other's lean legs from about his shoulders and lowered them to the bed.

"Are you okay?" The man inquired, standing stiffly and moving to untie the Constant's hands with gentle fingers. There wasn't much in the way of a reply. "..Arthur?" He tried, tentative, as said man's wrists came loose. 47 took them into his own palms, settling beside the, now sitting, form on the bed. He was careful as he massaged more blood into the slightly stiff digits, letting the man rest his head on his own chest as he tucked him in close, thick legs bracketing the other man's body. His own back now against the headboard, and the other now essentially in his lap. Arthur was still out of breath. "Can you nod, then, if you're feeling okay?" A nod. "Good." He let go of Arthur's hands and took his face in one of his own to undo the tie wrapped about his eyes with a deft tug, to his relief, the man seemed to be fairly conscious, although his gaze was a little clouded still.

He let Arthur curl back against him, eyes shut. "Hello there." His fingers drifted over the strands of silver hair, brushing the wisps back slowly. The movements were languid - he was attempting to ease the man into sleep, to make his own escape easier. (Poor Lucas, he'd have to warn him about the lack of clothing prior to collecting the Constant - at least he hadn't been recognised, the other would be none the wiser to… who had actually fucked him) 47 traced the same few shapes over the other's back, between a collection of large moles, which seemed to help.

Against his torso, the pace of the other's stammering breaths and the thump of each heartbeat became more relaxed, the sheen of sweat was still evidently but more bearable too. Once he was content the other had come down enough, the hitman rolled them onto their sides - spooning the man, prepared to stay there until Arthur drifted off. He pressed a few lazy kisses to the back of his ear, and the other let out a small sigh, clearly more content than he had been in a long while. 

47 imagined he should have felt anger towards this man, some of the same inkling of distaste that Lucas displayed but he simply couldn't; this wasn't Janus, nor was he responsible for the actions his mentor had made. He was barely older than 47 himself, and exhibited few of the same self righteous attitudes. Plus after seeing the indignant treatment he had been faced with, 47 couldn't help but relate to the exhaustion. It was evident The Constant was an overworked, bitter man; yes, one who was exceptionally intelligent, a manipulator too -- but a wronged man nonetheless. From his vantage point, he could pick out the scar on Arthur's throat, he reached out and touched lightly.

A few more minutes couldn't hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> *disappears under mysterious circumstances again*


End file.
